


5.) Snooping

by Kirito_Potter



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Diary/Journal, M/M, POV First Person, Present Tense, Round Robin, Secret Crush, Sharing Clothes, Watford Fifth Year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-13 22:36:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19260532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirito_Potter/pseuds/Kirito_Potter
Summary: At least now that classes are over for the day and I'm back in my own room, I can grab some fresh clothes that aren't singed, including the jumper I didn't put on this morning. The only problem is I'm still not sure what to do with Baz's.





	5.) Snooping

**Author's Note:**

> The 5th chapter of the Carry On Round Robin! :)

**SIMON**

  
  


I bite my lip, glancing around the room as I tug on the collar of my jumper-- no. Of  _ Baz's _ jumper. I'm still wearing his bloody jumper, feeling like the biggest knobhead in the world. Honestly, Baz was right. What kind of mage can't even hold their wand the right way round?

 

At least now that classes are over for the day and I'm back in my own room, I can grab some fresh clothes that aren't singed, including the jumper I didn't put on this morning. The only problem is I'm still not sure what to do with Baz's.

 

He said it was okay if I just put it on his bed, right? I wanted to come during lunch, but time got away from me, and Penny was rushing me to our next class together before I could even think about returning the jumper. I ended up wearing it all day.

 

It was kind of distracting. The smell, I mean. It reminded me of when he and I were curled up so close to each other, after I spelled the room cold… like he was laying on top of me all day, drenching me in his rich earthy smell. Like his arms were still wrapped around me. Like I could still hear his teeth chattering, feel him burrowing his face into my hair. I nearly fell asleep like that in class, resting my head on my arms and breathing in the scent.

 

But now I'm done with the jumper, and I'm not sure what to do. Just throwing it on his bed seems like something that would actually make him angrier. He'd probably throw a fit over how I'd let it wrinkle, or how I hadn't put it on just the right part of his bed, or any other excuse to start a row with me. (Some days I think he likes fighting with me.) It's enough to make me hesitant and paranoid, and I'm scared to even slip the jumper off until I know where to put it. He usually doesn't come back to our room for a few hours, so I can't ask him either...

 

"If I were Baz, where would I put my jumpers?" I mumble to myself, lifting a hand to my chin (and subsequently slapping myself with the extra-long sleeve).

 

I throw open his wardrobe first, squinting around. It looks like he has mostly blazers and shirts in here, but not jumpers. He must not hang them up, which means they're folded in a drawer somewhere. That makes this hunt a little more difficult.

 

Kneeling between our beds, I pull open the first drawer on his bedside table. I'm surprised to see how neat it is, used to my own drawer full of gum wrappers, crisp packets, and other assorted necessities. His is tidy, with a few things in perfect little rows: a wand case, a small container for hair clips, and a couple of pens in different colors.

 

Satisfied there are no jumpers, I close the drawer and move on to the next one. This one seems to be designated for school things. There are folders, stacks of paper, and textbooks. I rummage for a bit, checking to make sure there's nothing underneath it all.

 

I open the third drawer, hoping I won't have to look through the many others in the room. This one is a little less neat than the others, filled with loose sheets of paper and what look like art supplies. Charcoal pencils sit in little tins, and a metal box labelled  _ watercolours _ is sat on top of some. I suppose Baz is an artist, then. I rummage about, grabbing his artworks to look. It’s mostly unfinished sketches-- I recognise his younger sister from the background of his mobile. (He’s still got it, even though the Mage instated a new rule this year saying we couldn’t have them on campus.) There’s a few coloured drawings, too-- a closeup of a blue eye, a profile shot of someone with just the dirty blonde hair detailed, a study of a mouth with lips bitten pink. He’s not bad, actually.

 

And then I see it. A hard corner, poking out below the drawings. I push the sheets aside and reveal the true secret of this drawer: a notebook with little hearts and flowers outlined on the cover. The largest heart is in the middle, and written inside it is  _ From NP.  _ His girlfriend, I assume, though I can't seem to remember any girls at Watford with those initials. (A Normal, maybe?) (How scandalous for a Pitch.)

 

I sit back, peering at the book in my hands. Surely it's filled with romantic poems, or sappy love songs, or otherwise vile expressions of passion, from both him and the unlucky lady. Prime blackmail material.

 

I try to open the book, eager to see what's written inside, but it won’t budge. It must be spelled shut.

 

“ **Open sesame** ,” I hiss. The book springs open in my hands, and I lean back against Baz’s bed, admittedly proud of my spellwork.

 

The first page has a date written at the very top, one that's not exactly recent. I have to do some mental math to recognize it as just before our first day of classes at Watford. Intrigued, I start reading.

 

_ Being back at Watford is not nearly as cathartic as I had hoped it would be. _

 

I frown. Is cathartic a good thing or a bad thing?

 

_ I wish you were here. _

 

'You'? Does that mean the girlfriend?

 

_ I miss you. And I don't know if I can stand being here without you. I feel like I'm the only sane person here. You wouldn't believe who the Crucible just paired me with. _

 

So this is from the day when Baz and I became roommates. But who was he writing to? Maybe it was a Normal girlfriend after all-- a tragic story of lovers who couldn't see each other because she wasn't allowed at Watford. I'm just surprised he was dating so early. And if he still has the book, does that mean he still loves her?

 

I continue.

 

_ Simon Snow is the most beautiful idiot I have ever met. _

 

I think that's actually the nicest thing he's ever said about me.

 

_ And the Mage is insufferable. _

 

I pout. What does he get out of complaining about the Mage so much? And what girlfriend would want to read his rants?

 

I skip to a later page.

 

_ Today, Snow forgot how to spell demolish when writing me what was supposed to be a threatening note. I couldn't stop laughing. _

 

Flushing, I turn to another section.

 

_ Snow fell right on his face when-- _

 

Skip.

 

_ I can't believe Snow actually-- _

 

Skip.

 

_ And when Snow was-- _

 

Skip.

 

_ He was gorgeous. _

 

I freeze, stopping to reread the sentence. Surely that doesn't say what I think it does?

 

_ Snow cried last night. He was gorgeous. How does he do that? Even when he’s yelling and sobbing, he still looks like a bloody model. I can't stand it. _

 

I swallow hard, glancing at the top of the page. It's from a few days ago-- the day after the chimera.

 

_ It's like he's trying to make me soft. How could I not comfort him? I think I would have died if I'd had to see him so upset any longer. _

 

I know he already told me he comforted me that night. He admitted it when we were stuck in here. But it feels different, reading his perspective directly.

 

_ I hate seeing him upset. But I'm usually the reason he's upset. It's all a damn self-destructive cycle that makes me want to _

 

and then there's something frantically scratched out, standing out from his neat handwriting. I wonder what it said, but I'm also not sure I want to know.

 

_ I'm in too fucking deep to stop now. But for just one night, I wanted to be there for him, as backwards and asinine as that is. I wanted him to _

 

More scratched out writing.

 

_ I just wanted to _

 

Scribbles of ink again.

 

_ I hate that I know exactly what he looks like when he cries. _

 

The rest of the page is blank, but that sentence doesn't feel like a proper ending.

 

He doesn't like seeing me upset? He wants to comfort me all the time? He hates seeing me cry? It doesn't sound like Baz. And I'm getting the feeling this isn't meant for a girlfriend.

 

I go back a few pages, scanning for something, anything, that might explain all of this. Why he can’t go a paragraph without mentioning my name. Why he’d make me cry when he doesn’t really want to. Why he goes from attacking me to comforting me to pushing me down the stairs to holding me as I fall asleep.

 

_ I’m so in love. And I hate it. _

 

In love?

 

_ I would do anything if it meant I didn’t have to be in love with _

 

“Snow.”

 

My head jerks up, and I meet Baz’s gaze.

 

“What in the World of Mages do you think you’re doing?” He asks. His eyes are cold grey, like impenetrable steel.

 

“I… uh…” Well, I’m reading his diary, aren’t I?

 

He stalks towards me, and I can see him starting to lose his grip. His expression is slipping out of its calm disinterest into something dangerous.

 

“Give that back,” he growls. “It’s not yours.”

 

For some reason, I hold it tight, like I have a reason to protect it.

 

“Don’t test me, Snow.” But he doesn’t look like he’s going to bite my head off. His face is all red, but it’s blotchy, and his eyes are shining. I think he’s going to cry. “Just-- just give me the damn book.”

 

“You love someone?” I ask, like an idiot.

 

His hand shakes as he grabs the book, trying to tug it out of my grip. “That’s none of your business.”

 

“Who’s N. P.?” I insist. “Your Normal girlfriend? Is that why you can’t see her?”

 

He takes a deep breath, expression shifting a few times. I think he’s trying to calm himself down. “N. P. for…” He shakes his head. “For Natasha Pitch.”

 

My stomach drops to the floor, and my grip on the book loosens enough that he’s able to snatch it away. He clutches it to his stomach like it’s made of glass.

 

“She was going to give it to me when I started school,” he mumbles. “To celebrate, and so she could be with me all the time, even when she was busy.” He won’t meet my eyes. “Obviously she… she’ll never really read it. But I write to her.”

 

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, and I mean it.

 

He glares at me with a passion I’ve never seen before. “How much did you read?”

 

“Not much,” I lie. “The first entry.”

 

“You asked me if I was in love,” he reminds me. “How much did you read?”

 

I swallow. “I… didn’t see who.”

 

He grits his teeth, pulling his wand from his sleeve. He casts a spell I don’t hear, and the book glows for a moment. He shoves it under the artworks and slams the drawer shut. The sound echoes in my mind for a few seconds.

 

“Give me my damn jumper,” he hisses, and my face flushes as I remember the point of this escapade. I pull it over my head and toss it to him. He throws it onto his bed, still crumpled into a ball, and grunts, “I’m going to take a shower.” I think it’s because of the tears threatening to spill, but I just nod.

 

He disappears into the restroom with a change of clothes, and I’m left leaning against his bed.

 

I didn’t see who he’s in love with, that’s true. But my mind is swimming with everything I did see. What he said about wanting to make me happy. How I made him regret everything he did to me. How his causing my misery was a “self-destructive cycle.” And really, there’s only so much that could mean.

 

I glance to the door of the restroom. I can hear the water start to run.

 

Carefully, I pull open the drawer again. I pick up the notebook and try again, keeping my voice low. “ **Open sesame.** ” It pops open in my hands, and I gently turn the pages to find my place.

 

_ I would do anything if it meant I didn’t have to be in love with Simon Snow. _

 

I’m frozen in place for a moment, gears turning.

 

I close the book, too panicked to think of a spell to lock it, and shove it into the drawer, closing it quietly. I’m scared he’ll hear how loud my heart is pounding in my ears.

 

I stand, find one of my own jumpers in my wardrobe, and slip out of the room. I need some time to think.


End file.
